Harry Potter and The Mascot of the Dark Lord
by the-cherry-pie
Summary: CH2.As we all know in the magical world, Harry Potter is no ordinary boy. Let us see what his life is like in his 6th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy, starting with Ron's visit to Privet Drive! No updates until 10 reviews...
1. Chapter 1: Of Dreams, Birthdays, and Del...

Of Dreams, Birthdays, and Deliveries.  
  
As a hot summer's night went by, peacefully, yet stuffily, a boy woke up, startled from his dreams. His quick breath was broken in spasms, growing quicker, instead of calmer, his heart thumping loudly, heavily, and desperately, seized in a perpetual panic and horror. Just as sweat trickled down his forehead, and wetted his hair and neck, everything began to slow down, like a spinning wheel losing its wind. The boy's emerald-green eyes began to fill up with tears, but he resisted dropping them, and screwed up his face in an effort to gain some self-control.  
  
He glanced at the repaired alarm clock that was on his night table. 3:15 am. Again, he thought with gloom, again, again, again. That was all his brain could give, and he repeated the same thought over, until an "It's all right" came into his brain, trying to clear the fog within. After all, he thought, I'm no ordinary boy.  
  
"I'm used to this," he said this aloud to himself, "There is no reason to panic so."  
  
From a near room, a quick and loud snore sounded, making him jump like a startled bean. "Gee, even Uncle Vernon's snores are beginning to scare me", he whispered.  
  
A sleepy and thick "Not just you, anyone," came from a voice below. A redhead freckled boy's face, with a long nose and smart mouth, wrinkled from his pillow, emerged from the floor, and rested on the side of the bed.  
  
"Anyone would have nightmares listening to them," he continued huskily, "I dreamt with Snape wearing your aunt's clothes, scrubbing a toilet."  
  
The green-eyed boy even snorted aloud. His panic-stricken face relaxed into a wry grin, and his emerald eyes shone with fun at the comment. He pushed away impatiently his jet-black hair, which was always messy, from his forehead. From beside his alarm clock, he retrieved a pair of round eyeglasses, and put them on, which gave him a clearer sight and his characteristic look. His name was Harry Potter, and just as he thought rightly, he was no ordinary boy.  
  
First, he did not go to a high school, like boys his age did, although he did go to school. Yet, neither did he study math, nor chemistry, science, literature, or geography, but spells, charms, history of magic, and how to brew potions. He carried a wand, which was magic, to make spells and counter fight curses.  
  
Harry's life had been a mystery to himself until he turned eleven, and he received a letter that changed his destiny. Till then, he thought he was doomed to live with his uncle and aunt and cousin, miserable and always mistreated, until he grew up and managed to live on his own and struggled to start a small life for himself. But it wasn't so. He received his letter from Hogwarts, revealing his true identity of a wizard youngster, and the most famous ever! His Godfather, Sirius Black, was a convicted murdered in the wizard world, though he was innocent. In addition, his parents weren't just any people, they were a couple of the best wizards of their generation, but their death was of the worst type.  
  
They were murdered, not killed in a car crash, as he believed. The person who did it, wasn't just anyone, he was the most powerful and evil wizard of his era, Voldemort. Strangely enough, Voldermort, after killing so many people like Harry's parents, just couldn't kill Harry. Instead, his power was lessened to almost nothing and he grew so weak that to survive he shared his weak self with someone else's body. In such a fashion he confronted Harry, through many ways, until last year Harry caught a horrible glint of Voldemort's great power, now fully restored. In all these confrontations Harry's life was saved by a hair's reach of losing it. Now Harry, at practically 16, was being trained properly for duelling in what was called the "Order of the Phoenix", until when the time came for him, in the end, to have a final duel with Voldemort, in which his life and others' were destined to go on peacefully or be cruelly ruined to terror and despair. For this, Harry was the most famous young wizard ever, thus the most respected, criticized and endangered.  
  
  
  
"So, another nightmare again?" asked Ron, trying to sound calm, though he was so anxious that his own face was pale.  
  
"Yeah," said Harry tiredly, "Woke me up again." He groaned. "I was finally sleeping well, but I made a record, though," he glanced at the alarm clock again. "It's 3 am, 1 hour and… 15 minutes later than usual."  
  
"Oh!" Ron cried, "Which reminds me…" he didn't finish, but ducked under the bed and came up again quickly, with an excited look and wrapped gift in his hand, "Happy-Happy Birthday!" He grinned and thrust a long, tube-shaped package into Harry's stomach.  
  
"Ouch! Thanks!" and Harry eagerly tore the paper off the gift. He gasped. "Wow! Oh Ron, this is GREAT!" and Harry grinned broadly, forgetting his dreams for now, and unrolling from a fancy, golden, engraved tube case, an enormous poster of Ireland's Seeker, Lynch, with its original logo, and autographed.  
  
"Where did you get this?", burst out Harry, but Ron just answered with a wink, "Oh, I've got my connections." Harry grinned again, and put away very carefully his beautiful poster, not a chance he was going to risk it to Dudley's destructive tantrums, he thought.  
  
While they were both asleep, worrying about Harry's dream, and then ooohh- ing and ahhh-ing over the poster, they hardly noticed the presence of two owls and an enormous, fierce-looking bird, perched on Dudley's former, now Harry's shelves.  
  
"Hey, when did those arrive?", asked Ron, standing up from his "bed" (he had slept on lots of blankets and quilts and pillows on the floor) and reaching up to untie their packages and letters. There was the usual Hogwarts owl, with the every year letter to the students, telling Harry that the first day of his 6th course was the 1st of September as usual, and the list of materials he was going to need. However, there was a little hard card, made of red-colored parchment, in which it said his name and a small message: Harry Potter, Ayuda Inmediata.  
  
Harry snatched his school letter again and read more carefully in Professor Mc Gonagall's neat penmanship, and discovered that in the lower corner, there was a tiny, tiny P.S.:  
  
"Mr. Potter, in any case of emergency, regarding any sort of risk with You- Know-Who, or any of his side, throw this card into the air, and it shall be sent immediately to us as a request for help. Please make sure that this letter does not fall into wrong hands by burning it as soon as possible. Also, make sure the card is always near you and that you are certain of using it when the time comes. It is called the ' Ayuda' card, meaning 'Help' in Spanish, this is for the benefit of your knowledge in case I make a test on it."  
  
Harry said nothing. He just stared at the small red card, the size of a business card, and laid it aside carefully, to be stored later with his private goods. Ron had asked eagerly to see the card, but Harry absentmindedly said he'd let him see it later, and tried to distract him with the other owl. This one, was, as he guessed, from his friend Hagrid, the gamekeeper of Hogwarts. It was an enormous package, and it moved, and Harry was horrified at the mere thought of its being a living beast as a Birthday Present. It was not, to his relief, a beast… but a cushion! The cushion was square, with wine-red velvet, and comfortingly soft. The most peculiar thing was that it was alive. As soon as Harry had unwrapped it, it yapped and gave little jumps, and began to sniff Harry's face and hands, and finally threw itself into his arms, like an over-eager puppy. For once in his 6 years of knowing Hagrid, he was glad he sent him a moving gift. The package of the cushion contained also a box of chocolates from a brand Harry had never seen (and in French), and a small letter.  
  
"C'mon, read it!", urged Ron.  
  
"Dear Harry," Harry read aloud to Ron, "Happy Birthday Number 16! I hope yeh 'n' Ron are havin' fun n' bein' safe an' soun' as apples. I'm on a lil' erran' here in France by odders of Dumbledore, (yeh see he trus' me more, great man, Dumbledore) which I can't tell yeh jus' yet. This lil' cushion is me birthday gift for yeh, Harry. It's a good deal o' trouble if you don' treat 'im well, but since I'm sure yeh will, he'll give lot's o' comfort. I gotta go now, take care Harry, me lad, an' gimme the best for yar cousin Dudley's tail."  
  
"France?," bellowed Ron, "Hagrid in France? Well, it'd be just like if Madam Maxine was at Privet Drive!"  
  
"Well," said Harry, "At least he sent good gifts, and believe me, I'm grateful for these chocolates." He meant it, of course, because of Hagrid's terrible cooking.  
  
"Yeah, great gift," said Ron, eyeing with interest the box of chocolates. As soon as Harry handed it to him, he stuffed his mouth with chocolates. Harry tasted one, and he closed his eyes just to enjoy it. It was cream- filled, and delicious. There were many chocolates, enough for to satisfy Ron's sweet tooth, and when he was full of them, he rubbed his tummy and put them away for later.  
  
"Now, wha's nex," he asked, his mouth still filled with the sweets.  
  
"Er… let's see…" and Harry stood up and examined the other bird. It wasn't an owl, that was to be sure, and it was another sort of bird of prey. As Harry studied its beautiful silvery and blue plumage, the bird gave him a haughty sort of nod, which made the little golden cap on its head tinkle and fluff.  
  
"Oh!" exclaimed Harry, delighted, "It's a peregrine falcon!"  
  
Ron scrambled up from the floor to take a closer look.  
  
"A what?" he poked the bird on its side without much interest. The bird nipped sharply at his finger. Ron gave an "Ow!" and shot him a venomous look, sucking his finger.  
  
"A falcon, a peregrine falcon," said Harry, with enthusiasm, "I read about them in Dudley's nature books that my Aunt Petunia gave him." Those books, of course, had never been touched for years, beautifully illustrated as they were, but now that Harry had a chance, he read them all and delighted in the wasted gift to his cousin.  
  
"These are birds of prey, and just like owls they can be taught to be messengers, to hunt, and scare away other birds when you need a clear sky. They are probably fiercer than owls, and just as clever. Let's see who sent it, probably Sirius." And Harry then untied a small package, with a letter, and a tiny box. It was not from Sirius, but from Hermione. The letter said the following:  
  
"Dearest Harry,  
  
¡Happy 16th Birthday! I hope you had a great time, after all.  
  
As you probably won't recall, I'm right now boarding at St. Peabody's Academy for Witches. Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall told me I was a major candidate for applying for a full scholarship to this school, for the summer, and as you can see, I got it! I received the notice on the last day of school before the feast, and I was so glad I could have danced then and there! Still, I thought that because the school is for girls only, I would have a terrible time, but to tell you the truth, it's better than I expected, in fact, I hardly remember having such a great time!"  
  
Ron and Harry exchanged looks, and Ron muttered, "Oh, never mind 5 years of school together."  
  
"At Peabody's, there is more to magic than wands, potions, stars, and history which is called 'first-level magic'. They are teaching us what they call 'second level magic', which involves the hands and the mind. There is 'third level magic', in which you only do specific movements of the eyes, and with your mind only you cast spells, curses and all sorts of blocking and defense tactics. Of course, very few people in history have acquired such magic. Merlin himself reached only second-level magic.  
  
Anyway, I've learned lots and if you won't believe me, I've had lots of fun too. My roommates are quite mad, their names are Millie and Sally. Millie is from Wales, and Sally comes from Ireland. They are about the most explosive pair in the school; Millie is too clumsy, and Sally too smart- mouthed. I'll tell you sometime later about that pair of female demons. I've done my share of mischief myself, and already the Potions Mistress (a blood-curling female replica of Snape) hates me to the liver.  
  
Well boys, I hope you're both safe. Have you heard from Snuffles? How are you dealing with the Dursleys? I was awed at the fact that your uncles let Ron stay at their home, Harry. Could it have anything to do with Snuffles?  
  
I send you your birthday present in the little box. I hope you like it, and I got it just for you since Ron said he detested any sort of jewelry or ornament. Where I got it, they told me that it protects the person's engraved name and is a good luck charm. I sound like Trelawney!  
  
Well Harry, 'tis another birthday you have managed and we're all happy to have you. Have a great Birthday! Send my best to Ron.  
  
Hugs,  
  
Hermione."  
  
Harry opened the little box that was tied up with a silver ribbon. He gasped at what he saw- a golden wrist collar. It had a little "bar" which was tied with a little chain. On its surface, the name "Harry James Potter" had been engraved, beautifully, in fancy cursive letters.  
  
"Wow, Hermione!", Harry breathed, and although he wasn't that much fond of jewelry himself, he always wanted something golden with his name written on it, and so he thought Hermione's gift a nice one and he was happy to own at least this wrist collar. He put it on eagerly on his wrist, and there would it remain. Suddenly, as he thrust his hand on Ron's face to show it off with fun, his grin suddenly faded. Ron's face was not smiling. His lips were pinched, his eyes downcast, and he was wearing both a cold look and a sort of grimace on his face. It reminded Harry of the look Ron gave him on his 4th year, when he doubted that Harry hadn't entered into a contest by his own will.  
  
"What?" asked Harry.  
  
"Nothing," muttered Ron, and then, forcefully, he added, "Nice gift she sent you, mind you."  
  
"Yes, it is nice," said Harry, more sharply than he meant to, "It was nice of her to send it to me too."  
  
"Wonder why she never got me something like that when we… when we were together," said Ron, very slowly and indeed very coldly. The grimace on his face remained.  
  
"Oh, come on Ron," said Harry exasperated, "Are you jealous of me, or what? Just shut up, you jolly well know how many times Hermione was nice to you. She was always giving you gifts, birthday, holiday or not; Don't forget either how nasty you were to her and that you behaved like a…" he was going to say "a brute," but he stopped there and lamely finished, "Well, you had your chance. Besides, you wouldn't even accept a watch from your mother! You said you hated jewelry, even on women!" his voice was louder than he expected, and Ron's eyes glittered with anger. Harry knew now he had said too much.  
  
"C'mon Ron," he said in his most affable tone, "Let's not fight tonight. We're friends! And it's my birthday! C'mon, ol' boy, give me a nice birthday at least, just in case this is my last. There's no reason now to be angry."  
  
Ron's harsh expression softened. He nodded sadly. "You're right, Harry," he said in almost a whisper, "I never treated her right. It's over, anyway. Let's see what else she says in this P.S." He picked up a small note she sent along.  
  
"P.S. My summer camp will be over a week before September the 1st. I was wondering if you could both go to visit at my house, and you know, as Americans say, 'hang out' for a while. Professor Dumbledore said we could be safe surrounded by an entire Muggle environment, and my house is one. And besides, I think Ron needs a bit of Muggle Studies, so he can tell Mr. Weasley all about London Muggle residences. I enclose my telephone number and address, so you can please talk to my parents. I've already arranged this with them. Good bye!"  
  
Ron's face brightened at the instant.  
  
"This is superb!" he exclaimed, "Imagine, visit her house!"  
  
"Yeah," said Harry, quite disappointed, for he was craving for a wizardring environment and home, more specifically, the Weasleys' Burrow. But he remained positive. "It could be… cool."  
  
  
  
The next morning, the boys cheerfully dressed and went downstairs to have their breakfast. Aunt Petunia served them a quarter of boiled sweet potato, wearing a sour face. You'd think she was serving dung, Harry thought, looking at her with a tired face, as she screwed up hers when she served Ron a glass of water. Apparently, they were the only ones having breakfast, for neither sign of Uncle Vernon, nor Dudley could be found.  
  
"Where is Uncle Vernon and Dudley, Aunt Petunia?," Harry inquired politely, better keep things in peace than be sorry, he thought.  
  
"Your Uncle went early to arrange a matter with someone from work," she spat out sharply, "And Duddy's gone with Piers to the Gym."  
  
Ron snorted into his glass of water, and Harry hurriedly threw his spoon on the floor. He laughed under the table, and finally he emerged, red-faced and hardly able to keep a straight face. Ron kept his hidden in his arm, pretending to rub it.  
  
"He… he went to the gym?" Harry stammered, biting his lip and choking his laughter, "What for?"  
  
"To make himself more handsome, what else for?" snapped Aunt Petunia, and with that she snatched away their empty plates (the sweet potato quarter had been eaten long ago, out of pure politeness) and slammed the kitchen door. At that moment Ron and Harry snorted out loud, and they laughed a good laugh until their bellies hurt ; Ron hurried to go to the bathroom before it was too late, which made Harry roll over the floor all the more in more peals of laughter. The idea of Dudley in a gymnasium! Harry's eyes filled with tears of laughing by thinking of Dudley doing aerobics in tight shorts.  
  
Since Aunt Petunia was still in the kitchen, they could not sneak to the fridge to steal some food, so they headed upstairs for Harry's room, where, hidden under the floorboards, were the usual birthday cakes and food sent by Hermione's and Ron's families. They had meat pies made from Ron's mother till they burst, and also some of Hermione's cheese-and-ham-filled baguettes. They supposed Hermione's mother had made these, for her daughter had never touched so much as a cooking pan. After that, they had some birthday cake and even one of Hagrid's chocolates. Then they stretched out like lazy cats on the floor. Harry put his cushion under his head, and it giggled and wriggled and cuddled the back of his head.  
  
"So," Ron said, "Do you want to tell me about your dream, Harry?"  
  
Harry turned his head to look at Ron, and he tried to meet his glance frankly. He couldn't, not just yet. He shook his head.  
  
"No," Harry said quietly, "I can't. It would scare you easy, and I don't understand everything myself."  
  
Ron suddenly sat up. "I'm your best friend!" he cried angrily, "We've gone through almost all the same things since we were eleven!"  
  
Harry said nothing, and looked at his socks. He wished Ron didn't know anything about anything.  
  
"Don't you think I deserve your trust?" Ron said, sharply.  
  
Harry felt a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ron was right. They were best friends since they were young boys. But then, why couldn't he tell him? He had always trusted Ron, so far, whether they were speaking to each other or not. But, somehow, he couldn't bring himself to say it all.  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, "But just be on my shoes, Ron. It's too painful to tell to anyone, even to you. You know we've been best friends for years, but still, there is some stuff that even best friends can't say."  
  
"Bummer," was what said Ron only, shoving a pillow aside with his foot.  
  
There was some silence, and finally they both wrote the owl to Hermione's parents, telling them they'd love to go and that they would call a few days later to confirm. Then they fell asleep, lying there, stretched out on the floor with the open window in front. Though they didn't do much in there, Harry was grateful for Ron's company. He was still amazed at the fact that Uncle Vernon had let his friend stay here, knowing his repulsion to anything that had to do with Harry's world of wizards and magic.  
  
What he didn't know was that his godfather, Sirius, had sent Uncle Vernon with anticipation a bullying letter, in which he threatened to blow away their house with a single spell, if he displeased Harry in any way. Then the charmed letter burst into flames by itself, as a precaution, but causing a scream of panic from Uncle Vernon, and thus committing its purpose very well. That very same afternoon of the day he received the threatening letter, Harry approached the matter while Uncle Vernon was watching the evening news along with Aunt Petunia. It had been quite strenuous.  
  
"Er… Uncle Vernon?" Harry had said politely, for even if Sirius had guaranteed him success, he couldn't afford a raging Uncle while having Ron in the house.  
  
Uncle Vernon grunted. At least he means 'what?', thought Harry.  
  
"Remember my friend… Ron?" continued Harry still politely.  
  
"Who?!"  
  
"Ron! He took me to the Quidit-"  
  
"All right! All right! No need to say blasted names! It doesn't matter who he is, what do you want?!" he burst out, with his usual politeness.  
  
"I was wondering… could he stay here, for some days?" said Harry, whose cupful of patience was running out  
  
"Stay?! In HERE!" bellowed Uncle Vernon.  
  
"Yes," said Harry calmly, taking a deep breath.  
  
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! WE'VE ENOUGH PROBLEMS WITH YOU! AND YOU WANT US TO HOUSE ANOTHER FREA--"  
  
"My Godfather Sirius said I could invite anyone I pleased," interrupted Harry, very coolly, his cup of patience empty.  
  
"But, but, you- you—" Uncle Vernon spluttered, red as a beet, eyes popping out and panic in them at the name.  
  
"… and I bet he'd really be angry if he knew that I wasn't allowed to have any company this summer…" he continued, with a satisfied smile, rather pleased at the fear in his uncle's eyes.  
  
"ALL RIGHT THEN! Bring any sort of—of rogue you want! But just don't let me see either of you doing your—anomalies in this house!" he thundered finally, now the colour of a great big prune. As for Aunt Petunia, her eyes were wildly open, her features rigid, she threw up her hands in horror and screamed shrilly.  
  
"All right then, I'll tell him to come tomorrow," said Harry casually, as though Aunt Petunia had said nicely that Ron was welcome. He was walking out of the living room, when he suddenly stopped. As a last token of his triumph, he turned around, and said to his Uncle Vernon and his Aunt Petunia, smiling, "Oh, and thank you!" Then he climbed up the stairs in excitement and grinning widely.  
  
The next afternoon, while Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were away with Dudley at the Nutriologist's (they thought he was anorexic because he'd lost weight), Ron arrived by Floo Powder (a magical powder, which you throw into a fireplace to travel through it to someone else's fireplace). They had to be home alone, otherwise Ron's coming would have been fatal, and Uncle Vernon, threatened or not, would have kicked him out. So, Harry arranged Ron's coming the next day afternoon, and cleverly told the Dursleys that his friend was an expert in turning people into animals, which made Dudley jump the most (he had once been magically given a pig tail). Ron hadn't even managed the previous year to turn a button into a bug properly, but still what Harry said managed to scare his family away.  
  
Ron arrived, and things went smoothly that day until night, when the Dursleys came home quietly and went to bed, fearing for their safety. Ron was sleeping soundly on the floor, for he insisted that Harry's muggle mattress didn't agree with his back. Suddenly, in the middle of the night, he just sat up, startling Harry.  
  
"Oh, no!" he gasped.  
  
"What…" groaned Harry out of his sleep, and turned on the lamp.  
  
"Pig! I forgot he was delivering a letter!" cried Ron, his hands pulling his fire hair in despair.  
  
"Oh, no kidding," said Harry sarcastically, "What a panic, an owl delivering a letter."  
  
"No, but you don't get it!" cried again Ron, "He doesn't know which room I am in, exactly, he might give it to…" At that moment, a high-pitched scream came from Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's room.  
  
"Aunt Petunia!" both cried at the same time, and bolted out of bed and into the other room. Uncle Vernon, his eyes bulging out and a rifle in his hands, stood motionless in front of Aunt Petunia, who was trembling and covering her head with her hands, jumping up and down, and a minute brown thing tweaking here and there at her hair rolled-up in tubes.  
  
The scene was both comical and despairing—Harry and Ron didn't know whether to yell or laugh, and fighting a good one, tried to catch the minuscule owl, who was having fun. Aunt Petunia's cries were shrill, but the bird did no harm to her. Ron finally leaped onto Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's bed, and gave a huge jump from their bed and with both arms he crossed Pigwidgeon into his chest. Then they both fled to Harry's room, amid the yells of both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.  
  
Which upsetting event justified the quarter of boiled sweet potato for breakfast, with only a glass of water for drinking. Now both lay in the floor of Harry's room full of good food, happy and careless for a while. There on the floor, Ron and Harry looked at the same time at Pigwidgeon in his cage, and remembering the same thing, grinned broadly together, before falling again to sleep into a good nap.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
SECOND CHAPTER  
  
Two Types of Summertime Fun  
  
As the week passed, Harry and Ron wrote constantly to both Hermione and her parents. Finally, it was arranged that they should meet with the Grangers in London, at King's Cross, where they would all wait for Hermione's train to arrive from St. Peabody's Academy. Meanwhile, there were still 5 days to spend at the Dursley's, and for the first time in a week, Harry was a bit ashamed to have asked Ron to stay with him in such a boring place. The Dursleys were so angry with them that they had to ask Sirius for another of his threatening letters to be allowed to go out.  
  
After this, Harry was eager to show Ron the muggle world. It was now his turn to be a good host, and to introduce him to the delights that muggle boys their age had. He took him to a fast-food restaurant, and Ron for the first time in his life ate a hamburger, tasted his first French fries, and sipped his first Coke. This last one became an addiction for Ron, because he kept spending his money on Coke cans every 2 hours or so. Harry, as little as he was allowed to go out in his life, knew very well the neighbourhood and around. Fortunately, for them, there was a nearby cinema, and Ron was delighted to watch for once in his life a movie. That day, Ron had looked forward to it, and bugged Harry for it.  
  
"Can we go now?", he asked eagerly after breakfast.  
  
"Ron, it's 9 in the morning," said Harry, trying to sound patient, "No cinemas open at this hour, unless you count matinees."  
  
"Manatees? What do manatees have got to do? Is it a noodie about manatees that we're going to watch?" he asked, filled to the brim with enthusiasm,  
  
"Noooo! It's matinees, and they are the first showing times in the morning, but no one goes except little children," said Harry, and he was annoyed to find that he sounded just like Hermione.  
  
"Oh," said Ron, quite flattened, and he sat silent munching his Corn Flakes for a while. He jumped in his seat.  
  
"And can we go to the movies later? Are we going to watch a horror movie? Or an action one? Or a comic one? How does a noodie look like?" 


	2. Chapter 2: A Troubled Stomach in Colony ...

SECOND CHAPTER  
  
A Troubled Stomach in Colony Park  
  
As the week passed, Harry and Ron wrote constantly to both Hermione and her parents. Finally, it was arranged that they should meet with the Grangers in London, at King's Cross, where they would all wait for Hermione's train to arrive from St. Peabody's Academy. Meanwhile, there were still 5 days to spend at the Dursley's, and for the first time in two weeks, Harry was a bit ashamed to have asked Ron to stay with him in such a boring place. After the Pigwidgeon episode, the Dursleys were so angry with them that they had to ask Sirius for another of his threatening letters, just to be allowed to go out.  
  
After this, Harry was eager to show Ron the muggle world. It was now his turn to be a good host, and to introduce him to the delights that muggle boys their age had. He took him to a fast-food restaurant, and Ron for the first time in his life munched a hamburger, tasted his first French fries, and sipped his first Coke. This last one became an addiction for Ron, because he kept spending his money on Coke cans every 2 hours or so. Harry, as little as he was allowed to go out in his life, knew very well the neighbourhood and around. Fortunately, for them, there was a nearby cinema, and Ron was delighted to watch for once in his life a movie. That day, Ron had looked forward to it, and bugged Harry for it.  
  
"Can we go now?", he asked eagerly when they were having breakfast.  
  
"Ron, it's 9 in the morning," said Harry, trying to sound patient, "No cinemas open at this hour, unless you count matinees."  
  
"Manatees? What do manatees have got to do? Is it a noodie about manatees that we're going to watch?" he asked, filled to the brim with enthusiasm,  
  
"Noooo! It's matinees, and they are the first showing times in the morning, but no one goes except little children," said Harry, and he was annoyed to find that he sounded just like Hermione. "And," he added hastily, "It's a movie, not a noodie."  
  
"Oh," said Ron, quite flattened, and he sat silent munching his Corn Flakes for a while. He jumped in his seat.  
  
"And can we go to the movies later? Are we going to watch a horror movie? Or an action one? Or a comic one? How does a noodie look like?"  
  
Harry sighed, shook his head, and preferred to say no more. After they finished their Corn Flakes, they chomped on buttered toast with blueberry jam on it.  
  
"She may be grumpy, your aunt" said Ron with a muffled voice, his mouth stuffed with toast, "But mind you, her blueberry jam is good!"  
  
He helped himself to some more, along with a large glass of natural orange juice (Harry was an expert with the orange squeezer, for his aunt's benefit), followed by an enormous glass of milk.  
  
Harry was not left behind, having devoured more toast than Ron and drunken two pints of chocolate milk. Strange, Harry thought, lately I've been eating more than Dudley. He was then terrorized about someday using Dudley's breeches, and abstained from opening another pint of milk.  
  
"Ahhhhhh!" sighed Ron with satisfaction, "THIS is life!" They were now lying on the living room's carpet, stretched out watching the telly. Ron liked especially the kids' action cartoons, and the reruns of the Thundercats were his favourites. Of course, it had taken Harry a full afternoon of 6 hours to explain Ron all there was about a television, because Ron at first had cried, out loud and wildly, when an image of an old movie's vampire appeared in the little odd black box that muggles usually stared at. Now he wouldn't budge his eyes from it.  
  
"You said that yesterday when you drank Coke," grinned Harry, "If it weren't for me knowing your family, I'd say you were a perfect muggle."  
  
"Like Dudley? Are you mental?" asked Ron in a shock, "To squash people like you, with my behind? No thanks!" He remained silent for a second, and with a wry laugh, he added, "Well, if I got to squash you, then it wouldn't be so bad."  
  
"Ha-ha," said Harry stiffly, "It isn't that funny. That other time when he tripped me on the floor on my back and then sat on me, my ribs hurt every time I breathed."  
  
"Well, that proves you have tough bones," laughed Ron, "especially in your head, where there is great thickness …. Right here…" (he tapped his own head) "…that clearly shows how bright you are, especially when you blow up your own aunt." He said this with his usual joking grin, which he liked to use when he teased.  
  
"Very funny," said Harry, narrowing his eyes, "Now that is time to go to the cinema, I won't take you because I'm too thick to do it," and then he crossed his arms.  
  
"I take it back", said Ron quickly.  
  
"Good!" said Harry with a triumphant look, "Now let's get going!"  
  
Harry and Ron walked about 2 blocks from the Dursleys to take a bus that would leave them near a cinema. Harry decided at last not to go to the one that was near the house, because he just knew that he'd meet a gossipy neighbour of Aunt Petunia's who would inquire on and on about Harry, and that strange-looking, redhaired young rogue that was with him. Count on Aunt Petunia to spoil it all, thought Harry lazily.  
  
Ron was quite confused on how to make a bus stop. While they were waiting for it, he jumped, "Harry! We forgot our wands!" he cried, startled.  
  
"What do we need them for?" Harry asked carelessly, looking over his shoulder for a sign of the bus.  
  
"Well, what do you think we are going to use to make the bus stop!" cried Ron.  
  
"Ron! This isn't the Knight Bus! All we have to do…" said Harry calmly (and quite annoyed) and leaning to the street as the bus came up, "… is use our hands." At that he waved with his hand and the bus stopped. Ron stared. To Harry's relief, he was quiet all the way looking out of the window.  
  
That afternoon was one of the best ones in Ron's life. He was fascinated with the film, which was a suspense movie. He had never experienced something alike, in which you were seated comfortably in the dark to watch a story that came to life from rays of light that were shot from a little cabinet upwards.  
  
He was absorbed into it, and every time there was a scary scene, he jumped up in his seat like if he had sat on a pin. He bellowed so often when he was startled, that people sitting near them stared. Harry would pretend to be interested into the ceiling.  
  
When the movie ended, Ron begged to watch another; Harry didn't refuse, even if it meant to spend all his muggle money. The next movie they saw was a comical one, and if Ron had screamed at the other one, now he gave such huge belly laughs that were heard all over the theatre room. He would often laugh vociferously, cramming popcorn into his mouth as he did.  
  
"You'll get sick!" whispered Harry to him, trying to be discrete.  
  
"Awwwwww, Harry! NOBODY CARES!!!" cried Ron at the top of his voice, and laughed noisily again. Heads turned in their direction.  
  
"You are eating too much," said Harry firmly, and snatched the popcorn bucket away from him. This reminded him of one of his only other two visits to the cinema in his life, and Dudley had vomited. It was awful.  
  
"Oh, WHAT'S IT TO YOU," snapped Ron and grabbed the bucket from Harry's side. He stuffed his mouth with popcorn and began to chortle again  
  
It was late when they left the movie theatre. Ron wanted to walk, and Harry consented, just to be relieved of the people who glared at them. They were now walking by an enormous park, so extensive that it covered many blocks; it was called Colony Park, and looked more like a forest for its thick trees and bushes.  
  
Ron bought himself a last Coke, and sipped enjoyably as he walked, his blue eyes lost in the stars. Harry had his hands jammed in his pockets, but the golden wristlet Hermione had given him stuck out, and gleamed in the pale light of the public lamps. Harry looked at it, and wondered if Hermione was having a good time just like them. It sounded like it in her letter, he thought. Somehow, the thought of Hermione having fun without them felt strange, sort of like digesting a bag of bricks in their stomach.  
  
"I wonder what Hermione is doing now," said Ron softly, but it startled Harry out of his thoughts.  
  
"What?"  
  
"If she is happy, you know." Ron said ever so gently.  
  
"Bet she is," said Harry shrugging, "You know, what she said in her letter."  
  
"I wonder if she's met another boy," said Ron sadly, dropping his Coke can to the ground. He kicked at it half-heartedly.  
  
"Naw…" said Harry satisfactorily, "There are no boys at her school."  
  
Ron snickered, and Harry grinned.  
  
"Unless," Harry continued with fun, "She's hooked up with the milkman."  
  
At this, both snorted at the same time, and began to double up with laughter. They were laughing so hard, that Ron dropped to the ground, his body bent into himself, and clutching at his stomach with his right arm. Harry kneeled to help Ron up, and grabbing his arm, he saw his face, streaked with tears and laughed all the more at it. It suddenly struck him that Ron's face was too pale, and that the twisted expression on it was not of fun, but of pain.  
  
"Ron?" asked Harry worriedly, as he tried to pull him up, "Ron? What's wrong?"  
  
"My—my stomach!" whispered Ron heavily, his face contorted, "It hurts! Owww!!!!!!!" And then he fell to the ground, rolling on his side and clutching at his stomach again.  
  
"Wait! Wait!," Harry cried, "Hold it! I need to walk you to a doctor or… home?" He said this last word raising his eyebrows, meaning, of course…  
  
"What? Walk until we get home?!", cried Ron shrilly, "I can't even stand up, Harry! I feel like I've eaten some stupid animal that's squeezing my stomach and my insides… OWWWW!" and with that he rolled again on the ground.  
  
"NOW WHAT AM I GOING TO DO!" yelled Harry desperately, whirling around and looking at all directions. They were still a good distance from home, the bus stop was about 5 long blocks away and the last bus passed at 10:30 pm. Harry glanced at his watch. 11:35 pm.  
  
"Damn!" cursed Harry, stamping his foot on the ground.,  
  
"Stop wasting time and help me!!!!" bellowed Ron from the ground, "OWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" he howled once more, and rolled to his other side.  
  
"I'm trying!" snapped Harry. Think, think Harry! The voice in his head was saying, there must be someone you know that can help you. No, said another voice in his head, you have no friends in the Muggle worlds. He was so desperate that he even felt like using the A.I. card Dumbledore had sent him. He took it out of his jacket pocket, and nervously his hand raised itself and his fingers were about to let go, but he thought better of it. Maybe it was his only chance to get help when he has really in danger, and he wasn't going to give it up so easily.  
  
He then slunk the card back into Dudley's jeans enormous denim pockets. He touched something hard, smooth and rectangular again. He retrieved a phone card that he'd bought months ago and left forgotten in his jeans. Suddenly, an idea came into his head.  
  
"Hey! I know what to do now!" he cried excitedly, and he slapped his forehead, "How could I have been so stupid?!"  
  
"YES HARRY I KNOW YOU CAN BE STUPID!" yelled Ron angrily, "Now would you put it beside for a while and help me? I can't stand my stomach! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!" and with another howl of pain he rolled once more on the cement, getting himself extremely dirty.  
  
"Just you wait here," Harry said briskly, and trotted to the nearest phone booth, crossing the street, two blocks away. He heard as he ran Ron's cries pleading not to leave him. He shut himself in the booth, breathless and panting, and began to dial quickly. He called the only phone number he recalled, the phone number of the only person near enough to help them.  
  
"Hello?" an old lady's voice answered, thin and acute.  
  
"Mrs. Figg? This is Harry Potter."  
  
"Harry? Oh goody goody, my son!" cried the old lady shrilly, with pleased surprise, "But how are you? When are you coming? Mr. Snowy Paws has missed you terribly."  
  
"He has?" answered Harry hurriedly and uninterestingly, "Mrs. Figg, I know that in Hogwarts they told us not to get together too often, but I really need your help." Thus Harry told her all about Ron's pale face and gnarled stomach, and Mrs. Figg, Harry's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher (for two years), promised to send a paid cab to where Harry was, only he had to make an effort to walk one block to a certain avenue.  
  
Feeling much relieved, Harry hurried to where Ron was, and there both made an effort to walk together. Harry slung Ron's left arm over his own left shoulder, and with his right arm he held Ron by his lean waist, and in such a fashion they began to walk, Harry taking slow steps at a time, with Ron dragging his feet little by litte. They were almost reaching the second block, when Harry heard a strange sound.  
  
It was a cry, shrill, loud, and piercing. It sounded like the cry of something that was very small, and defenceless, was being harmed with no sign of hope nor help. It was the cry of a baby.  
  
Harry almost felt that he too would drop to the ground with sheer fright. He stopped dead in his tracks, and listened again. The cry came again, as clear as before, and louder, and to Harry's horror, nearer.  
  
"Ron! Ron!" he whispered, "Did you hear that?" But when he turned to him, he was horrified to see his best friend's face totally unconscious. Ron's limp weight made Harry's legs stumble, but he struggled not to fall. He held on to Ron harshly, his poor legs hurting smartly with every second because of the effort of bearing his best friend's body.  
  
The cry was again heard, and this time Harry felt it so loud and near that a horrible chill was in his spine. The public lights shut down suddenly, and Harry was left standing in the middle of a pitch-black darkness, helpless, where he could barely see his own hands. And just as quickly as that horrible cry had been heard, an empty and deafening silence came, and Harry, for half a minute heard nothing but his own soft panting. A coldness in his insides next came, such as that one he felt when there was a dementor near him, his knobbly knees shook, cold sweat trickled on his forehead, then, a loud wheezing breath came to Harry's ears. It was right behind him.  
  
With his heart now beating hysterically, slowly, very slowly, Harry twisted his neck, as far as it could give, until it would ache him. There were many bushes at his back, but now in the night, their dark green colour turned to a nasty blueish tint, hardly visible in the midst of all the blackness.  
  
Harry couldn't help staring at the bush, his face turning stiff with panic. It seemed to him that the more he kept looking, the more frightened he was, to the point of seeing things. He thought he began to see in the bushed two lights, red and orangy and blue at the same time, like the lights of a flickering fire. They began to appear dully, growing brighter and brighter as he kept his eyes on them. The two lights went out in a fraction of a second and came back again, and Harry realized what they were: eyes. His own blinked often, and with despair he saw the fire eyes growing brighter and brigher, bigger and bigger as they drew nearer. He could not see anything else but those two monstrous yellow and red eyes, and when Harry began to shuffle his ankle in a running position, the thing in the dark cried the shrill cry, that terrifying scream that sounded as that of a baby being hurt.  
  
Harry didn't need to think it twice. He began to run. 


End file.
